Rather Unexpected
by soweroftales
Summary: Kel picks up a new stray. He's not sure what to think. Neither is anyone else. Follow Kel's squire through his four years with the Protector of the Small.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. Inspired by Tammy's response to a question about Joren I read somewhere. She said there were other boys in the family but Joren was the "bright star".

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**Rather Unexpected**

_Summer_

The last thing Squire Brecon of Stone Mountain expected when he woke that morning was to be conversing with the Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, yet there she was leaning causally against the fence of the practice yard.

"You joust well." It was a simple statement. She wasn't surprised, nor did she seem particularly impressed.

"Not so well as you." He said with a slight bow, his reply half bitterness and half pride. His palace trained manners and the fact that he was being complimented by a knight known for her jousting could not completely overcome his family anger. After all how did one converse politely with the woman who 'single-handedly destroyed the family's future'? Evidently younger sons had not factor into his father's vision of the future of Stone Mountain. But now it was up to him to restore what Joren had lost.

"I could help you with that. I was planning on taking a squire anyway."

He stared at her. Truly there were very few things she could have said that would have shocked him more.

"I'm certain you've had other offers." She said, perhaps regretting her offer already. Was she trying to escape?

"No. No, I haven't. High risk, I'm sure you understand." he kept his voice even and detached, mimicking the tones he'd heard all his life. "Father tells me I should be expecting an offer soon though." A lie - the last letter he'd received from home at been four months ago, written by his mother begging him to come home.

"Well then, I shall look forward to seeing your name in the lists." she offered him a hand to shake.

Brecon stared at her outstretched hand. "Wait."

"Yes?"

"When should I move my things?"

Her smile was genuine. They shook on it, while she instructed him on his new living arrangements.

He was neither his father nor his brother, but perhaps he could be the great hope for Stone Mountain. Brecon smirked. At least he might succeed in pushing his father to an early grave.

* * *

"Whatever is wrong with you, my friend, is no small thing." Sir Nealan of Queenscove said, rather loudly, while he sat with his best friend in her study. "In fact, I am certain many of my former colleagues at the University would be greatly intrigued. Perhaps I shall propose a study!"

"Shut up, Neal." There was no detectable annoyance in her voice.

"Honestly, Kel, I only let you out of my sight for a couple months. Why?" he flung his arms wide for emphasis. "Why do you insist on doing everything in the most difficult manner possible?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Meathead," Kel replied trying to keep her expression stoic, failing, but hiding her smile behind her glass of cider; she'd never admit it, but sometimes she missed Neal's dramatics.

"Firstly, you insist on being a knight." This earned him a pair of raised eyebrows. "Secondly, you refuse to simply ignore hazing like the rest of us; thirdly, you adopt that gods-awful, man-eating monster insisting that it is a horse..."

At this point she was trying to tune him out, and figure out for herself why she had done it.

"... ninthly, you attempt to rescue the refugees ALONE..."

He was digressing into a full-blown rant as only Neal could manage.

"I wanted a squire."She said, more to interrupt him than anything else.

"Ah, yes, so you chose the young man whose older brother attempted to sabotage your training at every turn, until the day he died, whose father would like nothing more than to see you chopped into little pieces and fed to crows, and whose entire family has likely sworn to hate you and yours forever. Perfectly sane, Mindelan."

* * *

His knightmistress would tell him that listening at doors is unbecoming. Not that she expressly discouraged him from continuing the practice, but it was more like she was implying that it was frowned upon to be caught, at least the was the most convenient interpretation for Brecon. Also, it was too tempting to resist when Queenscove was asking the very questions he had so long too. After only a few weeks in her service he felt he knew very little about her personally, and wished to rectify that as quickly as possible. He had agreed to four years with this woman, and he would not be held at a disadvantage.

His reasons for agreeing were still a mystery. The Lady did not seemed to beable to give no more logical a answer than he was. It was not the wisest choice - for either of them. But it had certainly gained him attention; many he passed in the palace halls regarded him curiously. There would be no positive attention form home, though. If the mildly horrified reactions of his friends would only be a foreshowing of his father's.

Queenscove was proposing a toast now.

"To the next four years. May we all survive them, remaining wits intact."

_I____'d drink to that._ Brecon thought.

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**A/N: This was originally just a drabble, but I had some reviews asking for more, so I tried. I've polished it up a bit and extended this chapter because Neal wanted to have his say. If I follow it through the four years of being a squire, it will be about 15 chapters. All input is welcome :)**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Flashback! :)

Disclaimer: As you know, this world and many of its characters are borrowed from Tamora Pierce

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Four years earlier…

Normally the City of the Gods was a place of peace and scholarship, except of course the period it was under siege by Scanran killing machines. Even during that point of the war, Brecon had always found that there was comfort in being surrounded by piety and knowledge, but today it offered no solace.

The letter was clenched firmly in his fist. Wrinkled and a little faded from repeated readings. When he'd first received the letter, Brecon knew it did not contain good news letters in his father's hand never did. Other boys might receive pleasantries and well wishes in letters from their parents, but this son of Stone Mountain had learnt otherwise. Perhaps he'd always know not to expect anything else. As it was, he still found it difficult to accept this news.

His life was being uprooted again. He ought to have seen this coming really. Joren's death had had certain implications after all. It had been three years since his brother left this world. Some might say Brecon should think himself lucky that he'd been spared this long. When he paused to consider this he realised it had more to do with his father's preoccupation with avoiding war related taxes distracting him from the matter of creating a perfect heir, than it did luck.

If he had been taught anything in his time spent amongst the priests was that luck and coincidences did not exist. Life depended on the will of gods and the choices of man – although paths were not certain events did not happen by chance. If they did, then perhaps Brecon would have been lucky enough to have an older brother capable of surviving to adulthood, or at least of had the fortune to have already taken priestly vows that would have removed him from such petty necessitates of familial continuity. But these thoughts were fruitless and callous. Time cannot be turned back, and the dead deserve our respect – or so he had been told. Brecon new he was failing to convince himself of these truths.

He was packing his things. Tomorrow, he left the City of the Gods in favor of Corus. Tomorrow, his father's men would come to take him to his new life. Tomorrow, or the morning after at latest he would be a page in service at the royal palace. A page at least two years older than his fellows, but a page nonetheless.

The bells were sounding a call to prayers. They would be the last he shared in cloister at the Great Temple of Mithros. He turned with a sigh, braced himself and accepted his fate.

The boy was no stranger to cities, so he did not gawk as many how passed through the gates did. Corus was much as Brecon remembered it from his last visit years before. Diverse, loud and full of life. The thirteen-year-old felt a longing to return to that first visit his mother, sisters and brothers present – come to see Joren's big examinations and the last time they were all together. The six years that followed had seen Brecon sent off to the temple, Elissa sent off into a political marriage, and his older brothers both journeyed where he could not follow. While Joren was loudly mourned, Richard's fate was never spoken of. Time had not been kind to the children of Stone Mountain. _Mythos guide my steps; do not abandon your servant as his follows this warrior's path. So mote it be. _As usual Brecon received no response save a vague sense of something that was not quite hope.

His first, and most daunting task, upon arrival was not to meet with his training master as other prospective pages might. No, first he would face his father. So instead of guiding his horse up to the palace grounds, he and his escort turned to the wealthiest district of the city to where his family townhouse stood. It was an old stone building with little exterior beauty but it was richly furnished and well-staffed. Before long he found himself standing in the door way of Lord Burchard's study.

Brecon greeted his father with a slight bow; the man didn't rise but coolly indicated his son should sit.

They went through all the ritual questions of relatives reuniting after a long absence; discussing one's health and the health of various other family members, and the weather along the journey. All this was conducted in an efficient businesslike manner.

"It's good to see the priests have not made you soft," Burchard commented.

_Mithros is the god of warriors, father, and I have been trained accordingly. Brecon_ wanted to reply. Instead he acknowledged his father with a slight nod.

"You are smaller than your brother was at this age." He needn't specify which brother he was referring too – up until the moment Joren's body left the Chamber Burchard had only one son. Brecon allowed this comment to go unacknowledged. His father drifted into a lecture on the appropriate conduct for an heir of a great house, followed by a list of names which would be acceptable associates.

"You know what is expected of you, boy." His father said by way of conclusion. "You must not fail. Stone Mountain requires this of you." He paused a moment, nodded firmly, the said "You may go rest now, you report to your training master first thing in the morning."

"Yes, father."

With another bow, Brecon turned on his heels and left.

_Yes father, for the next eight years I shall be the perfect heir and redeemer of Stone Mountain. _Brecon thought bitterly. _I shall bring Joren back to you. I shall prove I can succeed where Joren failed, that I am worthy to be your son. But once I am a knight, I shall never be controlled by you again. _


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This used to be CH 2, but I added the flashback, so if you've read this before nothing has changed.

Disclaimer: Not Mine

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_Dear Kel, _

_ I hear you have picked up a new stray – that Stone Mountain squire. I trust that those years of flying lessons have not addled your brain, and you have good reason for doing so. Mithros, I would have liked to see the boy's father's face when he found out! Is your young Mater Boon jealous? Though I suppose the lad is too busy with his horse training to think, and you needed someone new to mother. From what I've heard, I must say the boys in the Own feel sorely replaced. _

_ Retirement is not suiting my dear wife – she is bored beyond belief and completely ruining my enjoyment of hiding from Jon. You must come and rectify the situation immediately. Taking a few whacks at someone other than me will do her some good. Also, Alan could use some sensible companionship. It is only for the sake of my greatly misplaced friendship with his mother that keeps me from killing him. Oh for the days of simple uncomplicated girl-squires!_

_Expecting you within the fortnight,_

_Yours Raoul_

Brecon was not sure if it was generosity or a sincere desire to see him in pain that prompted his knightmistress to arrange for him to tilt with Lord Raoul, the Giantkiller, but as promised she was making every effort to ensure his jousting skills improved. Flying lesson, as both his tormentors affectionately called them, were being held at the manor house of Malorie's Peak.

"Are you trying to be rid of me, m'lady knight Kel?" He slurred one morning while being forced into his armor - before breakfast no less. Her only response was to recheck that his horse was properly saddled and he'd strapped is wrist guards correctly.

The title they had settled on did not sit perfectly well with either of them. She'd given up on convincing him to call her just 'Kel', he felt calling her 'my lady' was uncomfortably close to the phrasing a lady's maid, she though 'Lady Knight Keladry' was to stiff and formal, and Brecon could not manage to say 'yes, knightmistress' without sounding insolent. Even still, their compromise generally came out in awkward garble.

Alan of Pirate's Swoop, Raoul's squire, laughed from where he was saddling his lord's horse. "If she was trying to do that, she wouldn't leave it up to Raoul. Trust me, when these lady knights want something done, they do it themselves." The young man winked at him as he led the horse from the stables.

Minutes later Brecon was atop his horse, practice lance in hand. He was at his best when he was on horseback. Riding had been the only thing he'd outshined Joren in. Not that he'd spent much time with him to know; their age difference was significant, and when all was said and done Joren had spent half his life training for a knighthood he would never claim. From what Brecon could recall, he remembered his brother had disliked any situation where he was made to rely on any being other than himself.

_All things are connected. _He could still here Brother Weston's voice intone. _No man can survive without accepting that – man, nature, gods all must rely on each other. _It had been just over six years. He'd been ten when Joren died, and had already spent three years at training in the temple of Mithros. It was Stone Mountain tradition, oldest son becomes a knight, while one of the young siblings enters priesthood. That, along with strategic marriages, had allowed the house to maintain power from all angles for generations.

Luckily, Brecon had no time to dwell on the past. He must focus on the task at hand, namely the six foot four steel clad mountain bent one knocking him from his horse.

"Now remember," Keladry was saying, "Raise your shield just a quarter inch higher, and don't brace so early. I know there's a bit more weight behind him than against me, but relax a bit and mayhap today's the day you'll stay in the saddle."

It wasn't that day. He flew from the saddle several times, and on their ninth pass, Brecon made a serious error in the angle of his lance, taking the impact on his own chin. Brecon's embarrassment would have been significant, had he not been unconscious.

When he came to, Lord Raoul was standing above him grinning. "Ready for another round?"

"Absolutely not, he's got to keep some of his brain intact for his maths lesson." That was Kel's voice, though he couldn't see her through the slits in his helm from his angle on the ground.

Brecon only groaned in response. He took the hand Raoul offered, only to be clapped on the shoulder once righted.

"I see you're done for today. Pity. You fly so much better than my own sorry excuse of a squire." Raoul said, grinning wider. "Though, I can't say he's ever knocked himself from the saddle. You've got good taste in squires, Kel, I think this one will do quite nicely." Brecon did not laugh with him.

"Alan!" the knight yelled over his shoulder. "You're turn."

Two days after this incident, Brecon still had a lovely dark purple splotch on the left side of his face contrasting strongly with his fair complexion. The lady knight had taken pity on him, in her own way at least, and set him at a desk with mathematics and strategic problems for the day. As fate would have it, on that same day the first letters from his parents in months arrived. After several minutes of staring at the blue-grey wax, he finally found the nerve to open them.

_Brecon,_

_ Ungrateful child. How dare you disregard your brother's memory in this manner? Surely you could have found someone more suitable with whom to continue your training? Some connection with the less radical of those so called progressives might have aided in restoring our house, but you have gone too far. I demand you to explain your motivations in full. As much I do not wish to see the title pass one of my brother's sons, you may force my hand with your reckless stupidity. _

_Burchard, Lord of Stone Mountain_

At least this missive form his father was short, honest and did not waste too many words on insults. In fact it was his mother's curling script that made him the most uncomfortable.

_My Dearest Son, Brecon,_

_ I pray this finds you well. I do wish you would write more often – we all so long for news of you. Your siblings are well, thought the past couple of weeks have been difficult, what with dear Joren's birthday passing us by. … _

There wasn't a single letter his mother could write without mention of his late brother. It almost made Brecon glad he was unlikely to be in her presence before he'd gained his shield. The body of the letter contained a mundane description of the daily running of Stone Mountain. Her closing paragraph was that of a desperate woman.

…_My sweet boy, I know you must have your reasons, but I implore you to take care. You must prepare yourself for what is coming, and ill luck follows this woman. That chamber of horrors has already stolen my darling first child from me, and I would do anything to prevent you from ever having to enter it, but alas it seems we have no choice. Be brave, Brecon, as I strive to be, and know you are in my thoughts and prayers every moment of every hour. _

_Return to me safely,_

_Your mother,_

_Elianna of Stone Mountain _

With an exasperated sigh, Brecon tossed both letter across the room.

"Bad news from some girl?" Alan was leaning against his open door frame.

"No. The usual form my father."

"Ah much worse, though in my case it is usually my ma."

Brecon snorted in response.

"You know, I was just about to go down to the village. There's a couple of pretty little maids who'd said they might…." Alan finished that sentence with a tricky eyebrow maneuver and a broad grin. "I'm sure you could find some to be suitably entertained by as well. Take you mind of family matters a bit."

Brecon was in no mood for the uneducated prattle of country wenches, nor was he in such a large supply of pocket money from his father to risk the expense of whatever fees such an evening may incur.

"Thank you, but no." He said, hoping not exactly to offend, but to discourage any such offers in the future.

"Suit yourself, mate." Alan said, still grinning as he turned to leave. His head poked back a second later. "Oh, and if my lord asks where I am, make my excuses, yes?" With a wink he was gone.

Two hours later, while Kel was reviewing Brecon's work, Lord Raoul stormed into the room. "What is the point in having a squire, if you can never find him?"

After a short pause, came Brecon's straight faced reply; "I believe he mentioned something about checking the attics for wormrot, my lord."

Shocking her young squire, Kel snorted. "Right. And I only ever had philosophical discussions with your brother. Now let me show you where you've went wrong on this problem here…." It was back to business as usual for both pairs of knights and squires; one pair quietly trying to maintain balance, and the other loudly trying to get the better of each other.


End file.
